Holy F
by lastknownwriter
Summary: Tied up, doused with gas, and left to rot in a warehouse. Dean Winchester's day is about to get a whole lot better. (an unintended collection of smutty one shots detailing the not-so-canon adventures of Dean and Cas)
1. Chapter 1

"Cas. You really shouldn't do that. Cas. Cas!" Dean's mouth worked open and closed, nary a squeak escaping when cool, calloused fingers dipped into the waistband of his jeans to slip the button free of its anchor.

"Cas," he tried again, and ohGodJesusfuck, the sonofabitching angel had the zipper pull lodged between one thumb and forefinger.  
The pull caught on a coppery bronze tooth.

Cas lifted his eyes, black lashes brushing upward far too slowly not to be purposefully sexy. Right? Right?

"Yes, Dean?"

"Hnnnggg…" Dean whined when the snag slipped free and the zipper easily splayed open with the force of his growing erection.

He should probably be embarrassed by that.

Or nervous at the calm, measured way Cas tugged the denim from his hips.

"Cas?" Dean licked his lips nervously.

"Mmm?" Cas was on his knees now and sweet baby Jesus don't move your chin to the left, don't, don't do it..

OH MY GOD.

"Dean?"

Dean sucked in a breath and held it until his vision started to blacken.

Cas' nose bumped his groin when he bent to lift Dean's leg free of the pants hem, and for the love of Christ, he would swear the angel just licked his thigh.

"You gonna untie me?" Dean panted shamelessly. He was still trussed up where the witch had left him, right before she doused him with gasoline and held a lighter to his cheek.

"As soon as I remove the rest of your clothes," Cas said calmly. He ripped Dean's t-shirt from hem to neck.

Dean almost swallowed his tongue. "That really necessary?" he rasped, mouth bone dry. "The lighter's gone. The witch is a pile of ash. I coulda made it to the hotel."

Cas studied him from his perch between Dean's feet, one palm resting casually on a bare calf.

Dean tried desperately not to cant his hips closer to those pretty, full lips hovering so. fucking. close.

"Yes."

Dean had heard once that a tornado could suck all the air from your lungs, reverse drown you. He imagined that feeling might be similar to a wave of celestial intent stripping you naked with a flick of his wrist. (Fucker. The zipper and shirt-ripping was apparently for goddamn show.)

"You gonna untie me now?" Dean finally found his voice, because shit. There was a sexy ass angel of the Lord still kneeling at his feet and unless he was misreading this situation entirely, he was about to experience firsthand what holy fuck really meant.

"Later," Cas said with a smirk, head lowering too fucking slow to be reasonable.

"Thank God," Dean groaned, head thumping against the warehouse wall.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't read this, this is such shit." Dean tossed the book onto the returns cart and pointed toward the back corner of the library. "Aisle, I don't know, fifteen or something. Get something with some meat in the back cover blurb thing."

When the girl continued to stare at him, wide eyes darting to the discarded book, Dean growled. "Go!"

The girl scurried off.

"You want monsters and whatnot, try Dresden Files," he called.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"Fuck me," Dean gasped, grabbing his chest. "Goddammit Cas, don't _do_ that." He resisted the urge to bend over and catch his breath.

"Why are you wearing those glasses?" Cas reached for Dean's forehead. "Is your vision all right?"

"Stop that," Dean ducked under Cas' raised arm, both to increase the distance between them (damn angel was so close Dean could _smell_ _him_) and to steady the sudden uptick in his pulse rate. "And I'm undercover," he winked, grinning broadly. "Librarian."

Cas' eyes narrowed.

"What?" Dean bristled. "You think I'm not _smart_ enough to pull it off? I read." He slammed a few more books on the cart and whirled it around the corner of the circulation desk.

He was halfway down the first aisle when he was shoved against a set of Encyclopedia Britannica, circa 1974. "Cas—"

Cas' mouth stopped a hairsbreadth from his own, his intensely blue eyes snapping in anger. Possibly lust. _Hopefully lust. _Dean sent up a little prayer.

Cas' mouth quirked and the angry sparks of energy surrounding them dissipated, replaced with a warm mellow feeling of fresh baked pie and Christmas fires and—

Dean squeaked when Cas shoved a knee between his thighs, lifting him on his toes a split second before licking into his mouth and answering his prayer.

He hung onto a fistful of trenchcoat and rode the kiss, heart throbbing loud enough the little girl cowering in the back of the library could probably hear it. He had just decided to forgo oxygen altogether, not a _terrible_ way to go, all things considered, when Cas broke away.

Stupid bastard wasn't even winded.

Dean panted. And rolled his groin into the taut thigh between his legs. _Just a little bit of friction…_

Cas stepped back and Dean's heels hit the institutional carpet with a muted _thump._

"Bastard," Dean exhaled, dick throbbing, head spinning, tongue scraping the recesses of his cheeks for _one last taste_ of angel.

"Your intelligence has never been the issue," Cas said, calmly studying Dean with that stupid stare that made him feel like all of his layers were being peeled away until Cas could read all of his secrets.

Dean blinked. "What?"

Cas tilted his head. "You accused me of doubting your intellect. I do not."

Dean scrubbed his mouth and _barely_ resisted dragging the goddamn angel back into the dusty corner where the atlases were stored so he could rub one out against his goddamn cheap suit.

Sonofabitch would probably stand there and let him, too.

"Whatever," he sighed and stalked up the aisle.

Okay no way the little girl in the backdidn't hear _that,_ he thought belatedly, yelping in surprise as he was flung past the encyclopedias, and the atlases, straight into the dark green leather tomes of tax law. He landed on his back on top of a (thankfully) solid oak coffee table, recoiling when a hundred and seventy pounds of angry angel loomed over him.

"I find your self-loathing incredibly tiring," Cas growled.

Dean inwardly sighed in relief, because he had a lapful of everything he had ever wanted, but didn't know how to ask for, and from the rather delicious looking tent in the front of Cas' ugly pants, the feeling was sacrilegiously mutual. "So do something about it," he taunted with a slow grin.

Cas rolled his eyes and Dean snorted.

And immediately wished he had taken a big breath instead because Cas kissed like he never wanted to stop, intense and thorough and breathing-optional and—

The library door tinkled, bells jangling as someone entered.

"Cas," Dean gasped, pushing at the angel who was covering him like a motel blanket, arms bracketing Dean's head, lips and teeth honing in on the _exact_ place on Dean's neck he loved the most, the goddamn fucker _knew he liked that,_ and—"

Cas looked up suddenly, eyes trained on something behind Dean's head. "The library is closed." The deep authority of his voice was enough to send feet scurrying back down the aisle.

The bell tinkled again and all was quiet.

Dust motes floated in Dean's peripheral vision as he squinted up at Cas. "I'm guessing my librarian days are over."

Cas pursed his lips, contemplating him before carefully pulling the glasses from his face and tucking them into his jacket pocket. "We're keeping these."

"Kinky bastard," Dean teased.

And that was how Dean ended up spending the night with his head pillowed on the naked thigh of an angel, a low, gravelly voice lulling him to sleep with tales of taxation and capital gains.

…


End file.
